


Please Stay

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Bad Ideas, Best Friends, Boys Kissing, Break Up, Caring, Cheating, Childhood Sweethearts, Comfort/Angst, Complicated Relationships, Ex Sex, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Love, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sleeping Together, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark knows he and Kian are terrible for each other.  Not that it's ever stopped them before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Stay

 

Mark didn't know why he was here.

Well, he did, sort of.

It was the same fucking reason every time. The variables changed, of course. He was tired. He was miserable. He was a bit drunk. He was bored. He'd just had another fight with his boyfriend, or with management. He felt a bit fat. He was in the neighbourhood.

The door opened before he could even knock. Kian looked at him. Mark stared back silently. There wasn't much point having this conversation, not again. There was nothing else to say. No excuse. No reason. Nothing to make this right except the one obvious thing that neither of them had ever said, or would ever say, because that might mean having to admit a whole lot of other things, one after the other and that was just...

“I just put the kettle on.” Kian said, holding the door open enough to make a space. “You want a cup of tea?” Mark nodded, sidling through the gap and hearing the soft click of the door closing behind him, familiar footsteps trailing him while he wandered into the living room and sat down on the couch. A mug was pressed into his hands a few minutes later. He didn't have to check to know it was exactly the way he wanted it.

Kian blew gently over the surface of his own drink, steam wisping away from his mouth.

“What happened?”

“We had a fight.” Mark sighed. Kian nodded.

“Big one?”

“Big one.” He shook his head. “I think... I think it's done. You know? I don't...” He ran a hand over his face, the other trembling slightly where it was holding the tea. “Maybe. I'm not sure.” A hand landed on his thigh, squeezing gently. “Is it me? Like... we didn't last, this didn't either and I just...” He looked down into his mug, glad there was milk so he couldn't see his own reflection.

“It's not you.” The hand squeezed, then returned to Kian's own mug. “When it was us... it was me, I think. I wasn't...” The older boy chewed his lip, then let it go to take a sip of tea. “Maybe I just... push. I'm not forgiving enough or something. I don't think I'm a bad person but maybe I don't care enough or think about other people enough. Think about her enough. Or you.”

“Where is she, anyway?”

“Excellent question.” He laughed bitterly, his eyes going up to the ceiling like a prayer. “Probably at her sister's. I'm not sure. It's been a few days.”

“I'm sorry.” Mark breathed. He hadn't realised. Hadn't thought of her at all when he'd gotten in the car and come over. Just hoped she wouldn't be here. Not like this, though. “You could have called...”

“Why?” Kian shook his head. Mark realised Kian hadn't looked directly at him since he'd come inside, not once. He looked down into his mug again. “What would have happened if I had?”

“I...” He took another sip of his tea, tried to think what to say. Kian finished his own tea, leaning forward to put his mug on the coffee table. “Is she coming back?”

“Maybe. Probably. Usually does. Or I do. Or... or something. Fuck.” Fingers ran roughly through blonde hair, raking it back from his forehead. “Was I awful to you?”

“No.” Mark assured him. “We were just awful together.”

“Tell me about it.” His ex-boyfriend snorted. “I almost lost my voice screaming at you.”

“Ditto.” He reached out, putting his hand on a tense neck and feeling soft curls shift through his fingers. “It wasn't your fault.”

“It wasn't yours either.” Kian looked at him, finally. His eyes were glassy and despairing. “I did love you. Do... love you. But...”

“We were too young, I think.” He stroked gently, sliding his hand up through Kian's hair. It was loose and unstyled. Mark had always liked it like this, like there was no pretence. Just Kian. “It was too much at once. Like, who would have thought being madly in love would be that _hard._ ”

“I know. It's supposed to fall apart because you don't love each other enough, not because you love each other too much.” Kian chuckled. “It was exhausting. I was jealous all the time. I loved you so much I think I hated you. Just a tiny bit. For making me feel that way. Like I was drowning.”

“I loved you so much I wanted to throttle you.” Mark laughed. “Because if I wasn't with you I missed you so much it hurt. And then when I was with you... I felt like I wasn't me. I was us.”

“Yeah.” Kian nodded. He picked up his mug again. “Want another one?”

“Please.” Mark drained the rest of his quickly, handed it back, and watched Kian disappear. A minute later he stood and followed.

Kian was stood at the sink when he entered. The kettle was boiling, steam beginning to waft from the spout, but Kian wasn't doing anything about it, nor about the two mugs sitting on the counter. He had his face in his hands, was standing so still it was almost horrible. Mark stood for a second, not sure what to do. He heard a low, wet sniff.

Without bothering to speak he stepped closer, wrapped both arms around a solid waist from behind. Kian stiffened, and for a second Mark thought he'd overstepped. But then the body in his arms sagged, leaning back into him while one hand clasped over his, the other still over Kian's face.

“Sorry.” Kian said quietly. “I'm having a bad week.”

“Yeah.” Mark agreed, squeezing him a little tighter. “Me too.”

“Yeah.” A damp sigh shifted the man against his front. “We're a complete disaster, aren't we?”

“Definitely.” There was a sour snort of laughter. He smiled, kissing Kian's cheek over his shoulder. “Want me to make the tea?”

“I don't know.” Kian turned his head, pressing his nose into Mark's cheek in a slow, helpless nuzzle. He breathed in slowly, then shuddered an exhale. Fingers entwined with the ones pressed to his stomach. “Come upstairs."

“We shouldn't.”

“We're going to, though. You know we are.” Kian's eyes closed, shifting behind eyelids as delicate as the rest of him. “Why did you come over if we weren't?”

“Just...” He didn't know how to finish that sentence. How to communicate the fact that when things were shit, so shit he didn't know what to do or how to explain, the first place he always went was Kian. Because Kian cared about him. Would sit patiently and weather the flood of Mark's emotions, take them onboard as though there was room to spare. It was what they had always done. Been there for each other.

Except when they were actually together. Then every misery, every dissatisfaction was a personal slight. Mark couldn't just be angry or fed up or Kian would wonder if it was his fault. Blame Mark for not being happy with him. And then Mark would blame Kian for being self-absorbed and not just _listening,_ the two of them riding the same carousel on opposite sides, chasing each other and never catching up.

They were better as friends.

They were.

They...

“Marky...” His own name sounded slow and sweet on Kian's breath, tinged with bitterness. A forehead pressed to his jaw. His hand was lifted, and lips touched each finger.

“Ki...” He muttered helplessly. “No.”

“No.” Kian sighed, squeezing his hand before dropping it. He turned, and a second later they were hugging. Stood in the centre of Kian's kitchen while the kettle clicked off and the light flickered slightly where the bulb needed replacing, surrounded by the shared domesticity of Kian and his girlfriend. A face landed on his shoulder, hands wrapping around his waist. He kissed the top of Kian's head, breathing in shampoo and skin. Lips brushed his neck.

It took him a long minute to realise they were dancing slowly, swaying back and forth to a beat neither of them could hear.

He reached down at the same time Kian did, and their fingers linked together, Kian's hand coming up to his shoulder while he wrapped his own tight around his ex-boyfriend's waist. When he looked down it was into a face that tilted up, blue eyes flat and resigned.

“We're terrible for each other.” Kian said quietly. He let out a breath. Mark drew one in, feeling his head spin. “She... she doesn't have to come back.” He bit his lip, eyes beseeching. Mark leaned their foreheads together.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm not sure. But... we're older, right? We're not stupid kids any more.”

“We're not kids, no.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Who else would have us?”

“Yeah.” Fingers slid up his neck from his shoulder, caressed his cheek carefully. “You're beautiful. You were always beautiful.” His eyes closed, and Mark heard a low sob, watched him pull away slightly.

“No.” He said quietly. “If we're not young and stupid, we're old enough to know better.”

“You'd think so.” A smirk twisted full lips that Mark had always loved to kiss. “But here we are, slow-dancing in my kitchen because we're both so terrible at relationships that this was the best one we had.”

“Was it?”

“For me it was. Yeah.” Kian looked back up, blue eyes clear and honest. “It was the worst and the best. At the same time.”

“That doesn't make it good.” Mark pulled him in a little tighter, felt a solid, familiar shape meld to his body seamlessly. Fingers carded slowly through his hair. “I don't think he's coming back."

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Mark admitted. “Not at all. I loved him.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“We're going to have sex, aren't we?”

“Probably.” Kian's laugh was surprised, but genuine. Mark echoed it, feeling a smile touch his mouth for the first time all day. “How long's it been?”

“A year? Maybe a little longer?” Mark shrugged. “You two were split up.”

“So were you.” Kian paused. “Did you ever tell him?” Mark shook his head. No. He never had. It wasn't a story to tell. It was a warm, soft memory to hold to his heart when he couldn't find purchase on anything else. Describing it made it seem dirty and it wasn't. It couldn't be.

“Did you?”

“No.” Kian bit his lip. “She... she knows we used to, but...” A kiss touched Mark's nose. “No. Not that time. Or the time before.” He sighed. “Or the time before that.”

“Why the hell do we keep doing this to ourselves?”

“Because.” Kian said simply. They both smiled. “I don't know. Old habits. I fell in love with you when I was fourteen. After a while it just became part of me, loving you. Like a tattoo or something.”

“Or a scar.”

“Same thing in the end, isn't it?” Kian pointed out. “It's just that one's prettier to everyone else.”

“You choose a tattoo.”

“Yeah, well.” A tired face lifted, lips brushing his cheek. Mark kissed Kian's cheek in return, felt the hint of stubble under his mouth.

“I miss sleeping beside you.” Mark murmured. “I miss hanging out and laughing and having secrets and...”

“The fighting and storming out and accusations and sitting up at three in the morning crying.” Kian finished.

“Yeah.” Mark breathed. “I even miss that.”

“Me too.” Kian pulled away, leaned over to click the kettle on again. Mark grabbed teabags while Kian went to the fridge for the milk. Once everything was done they sat back down on the couch, fingers linking while they watched TV, sipping their tea.

Then they went upstairs.

Sleep came easily. Mark got down to his boxers and slid into a bed that wasn't his while Kian stripped and put on a pair of pyjama bottoms. He was warm, the two of them nestled in the blankets, his arms around Kian's waist while he pressed kisses to a bowed nape and tried to ignore the smell of someone else's pillow. Not long after he felt Kian's breathing slow and closed his own eyes, allowing himself to drift in the troubled comfort of warm skin against his own.

When he woke, the space beside him was empty and the balcony curtains were fluttering in the breeze. He got up, stumbled over to peer out.

Kian was there, leaned against the railing in his pyjamas, looking out over the backyard, his hair catching the moonlight. He seemed small, bathed in a flat starlit glow that made him look grey and insubstantial, his eyes fixed unflinchingly out at some point in the distance.

“Hey.” Kian said quietly, not moving his gaze.

“Hey.” Mark murmured. He stepped out, his skin prickling with goosebumps while he leaned his elbows on the hard wooden railing.

“In the morning you have to go.” Kian said finally. “We can't do this any more.”

Mark swallowed. He was right. Knew he was right. Just like Mark had been right the last time when the same words had fallen from his own lips.

“Okay.” He reached out to cover one of Kian's hands with his own, felt it tense. “That's fine. Come back inside.”

“I'm being serious.”

“I know.” Mark nodded. “I'll leave today. But right now it's past three in the morning and you'll catch your death.”

“Stop mothering me.”

“No.” He snorted. “Even if we aren't fucking, I'm still going to worry about you.” He pushed blonde hair back from a pallid face. “You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. Come inside.” He tugged Kian's shoulder.

“In a minute.” Kian glanced at him. “Do you remember that time we were in... shit, was it Mexico, maybe? And it was so fucking hot we didn't want to leave the hotel?”

“India, I think? Maybe Dubai?”

“Could have been, yeah. Doesn't matter, I guess. And we almost got caught having sex in the shower when Bryan came back early from lunch?”

“He knew anyway.”

“They all did.” Kian snorted. “We were hiding it from them... they were hiding that they knew...”

“What's your point?”

“Just...” He shrugged. “It seems like a good chunk of our relationship was based on either lying or hiding. Not even from the lads, just... from the world or something.”

“Which was definitely healthy.”

“Yeah, but we're both in public relationships now, and that's going bloody great. It all just seemed so _important_ at the time. Stressing about things like... not even about people finding out, but what they'd think and what it meant and what would happen if we broke up and...”

“We did break up.”

“And it was totally shit.” Kian huffed out a breath, blowing hair away from his eyes. “But we managed.”

“I couldn't look at you for months.”

“No. I know.” Kian bit his lip. “And I couldn't keep my eyes off you, so it hurt like hell.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. It's been... what? Five years?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. “I'm glad we're still friends.”

“Me too.” Fingers reached over, squeezing his hand. “I like being friends with you. It makes me remember why I fell in love with you in the first place, honestly. We weren't good together, but fucking hell I loved you. Do love you. He doesn't know what he's missing out on.”

“I'm pretty sure he does.” Mark sighed. “Think that's the problem.”

“He's an idiot, then.”

“That's my boyfriend you're talking about.” Mark chewed his lip, trying to think. “If he... wants to come back...” Kian was looking at him carefully, and Mark couldn't believe he was about to say this. “I don't have to say yes. It could be over.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don't know. We're old enough to know better, right?”

“Yeah, you'd think so.” There was a soft, carrying chuckle. His hand was turned over and fingers threaded through it. “It's not going to be different if we do it again.”

“It could be.”

“It won't, though. When it comes to being in love with you I'm still a fourteen year old idiot. I'll get possessive and stupid, you'll get angry and fed-up, and we'll both be at each other's throats in about five seconds. It'll be the same thing all over again. I could be fifty. I could be ninety-three and in a bloody nursing home, but if we started dating I'd still act like a teenaged fucking tosser. You would too.”

“Thanks.”

“You would.” Kian pointed out. Mark grimaced. It was true. Maybe it was their shared history, the combined bullshit of their lives, but together they were always the same. It was like going back to a childhood carnival as an adult. Having all the years of experience and growth behind you and then realising the rollercoasters were exactly the same, getting more weathered and grey as the years went past but sweeping you up in the same excitement anyway. Hands above your head, eyes blurred with tears, and forgetting that you had a real life to go back to once the lights were shut off and the midway was being swept of other people's rubbish.

Fingers carefully touched his cheek.

“Marky...” He turned, let Kian press against him, an arm coming around his waist. Their foreheads leant together. He ran his hand down a back that had gotten a little broader, a little stronger over the years. A kiss nudged his nose. He shivered, though whether it was the cold or the fingers skating his spine he didn't know.

“It's cold.” Mark said quietly. “Come back inside.”

The sheets were still a little warm when they climbed in, the blankets tugged up a second later and trapping all their heat underneath. Fingers ran gently through his hair, a rueful smile touching Kian's mouth just before Mark's lips brushed it away. Just a small one. Chaste and comfortable, Mark's hand settled on the curve of a hip, Kian's fingers tracing the shape of his jaw.

“You're all stubbly.”

“Yeah. Couldn't be bothered shaving.” Mark touched his own cheek self-consciously. “Sorry. Sort of rushed over.”

“It's fine. I like it.” Finger tips gently tickled through the rough growth. Mark didn't have to explain the feeling, the despair and anger, the knowing the only place he could go was Kian. Throwing on whatever clothes he had and knowing Kian wouldn't think less of him for a moment. Wouldn't even notice. Because...

“I like your hair.”

Kian smirked, turning his head so the blonde highlights shifted on the pillow. “I was actually thinking about changing it.”

“Oh.” Mark shrugged. He ran his hand up the curve of a waist, back down again to stroke the firm length of a thigh. “Well... I like it, anyway.”

“Thanks.” A kiss dotted his bottom lip. “You smell good.” Kian muttered. “You always smelled good.”

“Mmm...” He let his tongue out to touch Kian's lip when the older boy leaned back in for another kiss. “You taste good.”

“You feel good.” They were closer together, suddenly, Kian pressed against him, all soft muscle and warm skin, lower halves blessedly separated by flannel and cotton. Fingers ran slowly up his spine, and he bit his lip to hold back a quiet moan. It was released a second later by Kian's next kiss, one that was slow and careful, plucking gently at his mouth while Mark's own drifted open automatically, their combined breaths filling the space between them.

“Oh.” Mark said quietly. Heard Kian laugh.

“Oh.” Kian echoed, tugging him back in.

They kissed, slow and unhurried. Hands drifting and bodies rolling gently into the soft, effortless taste of Kian, the feel of him. Fingers exploring every pore, feeling the differences from last time and knowing that it was all the same anyway, that the shape of Kian may have been a little different but that nothing had changed. Knowing, heartbreakingly, that that was the problem.

By the time a hand was hooked around his neck, and Kian was almost panting against his mouth, the sun was coming up outside the balcony window, the darkness receding and casting shadows across Kian's face in the dawn light.

“Please.” Kian whispered. Mark nodded.

But oh god, that moment was still the same. The one where Kian just _opened_ , tight and hot and eased slightly by the lubricant he managed to produce from a drawer beside the bed. One leg hooking his waist, the other braced on the mattress while Mark kissed him slowly, trying to keep him on the right side of the line between pleasure and pain, watching Kian's head tip back, long throat bared while he let out a whimpering cry and Mark didn't know how to stop doing this. Stop that feeling of Kian beneath him, around him, hands clawing at his spine and making sounds like he was shattering.

Once he was in they stayed for a bit while Kian adjusted, Mark settled into his neck with his eyes closed, thinking maybe he could just fall asleep like this, enveloped in warmth and comfort and the feeling of fingers drifting through his hair.

“Could stay like this forever.” Kian murmured. “You feel gorgeous.”

“Mmm.” Mark kissed a peaked nipple, his arms holding Kian's waist tight to keep them together. “Missed this.”

“Yeah.” Kian kissed his forehead, and when Mark looked up it was into eyes bright with tears.

“I'm not hurting you?"

“No. Well... it's been awhile so it's a bit...” He shifted slightly, wincing. “But no. You never hurt me.” Careful pecks began to drift over his mouth, across his cheeks, and Mark felt himself almost purr, stretching and feeling warm all over, accepted and kept. “So good.” He heard Kian whisper. “So deep, love. Want you. Need you.”

“Yes...” Mark breathed, gasping when he felt Kian shift again, everything tightening. “God, you're tight...”

“It's only you who's ever been there.” Kian murmured. “No-one else. Not her, not anyone.”

“I...” Mark wanted to cry all of a sudden, managed a breathless sob that he couldn't say the same no matter how much he wanted to. Wanted Kian to have everything, to go back in time and give him everything, to make it last.

They moved slowly. It was so difficult, trying not to grasp, to thrust, to let himself get caught up in the frantic desperation sizzling through every nerve, but he needed to make it last. Needed it to go on for hours. Days, if he could. Tasting every soft yelp, every gasping moan of his name, every salty pearl of sweat that he gathered on his tongue and tried to make a part of him while Kian rolled into every touch, blue eyes hazy with pleasure.

“Marky...” He heard Kian whisper. “Oh god...” He jerked suddenly, whimpered, and Mark held him, felt him tremble and gasp while he let go between them, eyes screwed shut and holding on like he was falling.

“Ki...” He groaned, feeling muscles flutter, trying to hold off just that second, minute, hour longer. The sun was spilling across the bed, the sounds of the first birds, the first people beginning to encroach on a moment that was supposed to be about them. The whole world getting on without them while he buried himself deep and dove into Kian's mouth, trying to force his eyes open while he watched Kian stare back. Let himself go, the breaking wave of release paling in comparison to the feel of blue eyes locked with his.

“Shit.” Kian whispered, when he rolled off. When he looked up, Kian's eyes were closed again and Mark was spilling slowly out of him, pooling on the sheets. He nuzzled into a flushed neck, kissing away the slick of sweat in his throat.

“Love you.” He heard himself say. Kian giggled, high and breathless.

“Ditto. God, I'd forgotten...” He dragged in a breath. “We should have used a condom, probably.”

“I'm clean.”

“Me too.” Kian groaned. “I'd forgotten how messy it is. Fuck.” He craned his neck to look, laughing when he saw the mess. “Wow, it's been a while since that happened.” He flopped back, closing his eyes. “I'm going to be shitting cum for days.”

“Your pillow talk is so romantic.” Mark smirked, poking him in the side. Kian laughed.

“Adore you.” He said quietly. Mark nuzzled into his throat again, knowing what he was going to say next. “But I'm going to have a shower and you need to go.”

“Yeah.” He agreed. “Okay.”

“Sorry.”

“It's fine. Really. I knew...” He huffed out a breath, wondering what he knew. Bloody nothing, apparently, considering he was in a big tangle of sweaty, smelly limbs, in someone else's bed, trying to get his breath back while Kian rabbited on as usual. He looked up. “Mind if I shower first?”

They showered separately. Mark went first, then tugged on his clothes and stole a yoghurt from the fridge while the water still pattered upstairs. By the time the shower stopped he was tugging on his shoes and looking for his keys, sort of wanting to be gone before Kian got back down.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

“I'll see you.” Kian said quietly. Mark paused, his hand on the knob of the open door. He glanced back over his shoulder, feeling ominously like Kian's gaze could turn him to stone if he looked at it directly.

“Yeah.” He caught conflicted blue eyes, barely noticing that Kian was only wearing a towel, water dripping down the soft contour of his chest. “Look, I... I hope things work out. With her. You guys seemed really happy.”

“Yeah. Um. Same. With him.” Kian nodded, a pained smile of encouragement scrawling across his face. “I erm... she wants to have everyone round for dinner one night. Or she did, you know, before...” Mark nodded, understanding. “So, I'll let you know?”

“Yeah. Let me know if I can bring anything, or...”

“Sure. Thanks. Yeah.” Kian chewed his lip. “See ya.”

The summer sun was hot already, this early in the morning. He shut the door behind himself, fiddling with his keys while he tried to remember where, in his haste, he had actually parked the car. Pressed the button and heard it beep, saw the flash of headlights over on the corner.

He nodded to himself, starting to cross the street.

“Marky?”

He turned. The door was open again, Kian framed inside it. Mark paused, stood in the middle of the deserted street early on a Sunday morning.

“Yeah?”

“Ehm...” Kian sucked in a deep breath. “Come back inside.” He said, almost too quietly to hear at this distance. Eyes locked onto him, drowning in hope and misery. Mark stared back.

“What?”

“I...” His hands twisted nervously together. “We're fucked, right? We're fucking terrible for each other. There's absolutely no way we'd work out, because we're a disaster waiting to happen. It would be totally, completely, insanely stupid.

“Yeah.” Mark laughed. “God. Worst idea ever.”

“Yeah.” Kian chuckled ruefully. “Yeah. I know.” He looked up, then slowly stepped aside, leaning in the doorway, the space beside him just enough for Mark to slip through. “Stay.” He said quietly. “Just stay. Please.”

Mark swallowed, felt panic, love, desperation fight for space in the empty cavern of his chest. Despair. Terror. The helpless hope in a face framed by wet, bedraggled hair.

“Bad idea.”

“I know.” Kian said. “Awful.”

Mark nodded, locking his car again and stepping back onto the pavement.


End file.
